Theurgy: The Journey's Dawn (Book One)

Chapter 63 The Right to Rule

17 years ago

"This is where you were born?"

Wilbur helped his pregnant wife down from the small coach. It was late in the summer days. It was quite beautiful, the skies bright blue and the fields an untamed vibrance that spoke of mystical forces. The forest of Silence was strangely comforting, contrary to its innate intentions. She could feel that power resonating off of her own pendant that now laid upon her breast. It looked the same as when she first touched it when Wilbur had bound her under vows, and her fate turned into that of strife. Even after all, they have achieved, the dismantlement of Talin, the end of the civil war, they felt even more greatly the cost. Two of the godslayers were missing, and only one of their pendants was retrieved. Torlak, Hath, and The Clans, sister nations who have prospered along with one another, find themselves in a delicate state of tension due to the sheer intensity of the fighting that cost lives in all three parties. Their friend, Remmus Mythweaver, had closed off all travel and trade, mages certified by their state ordered to return, and forbade all teaching of Torlakian mystics to outsiders. Hath had become under heavy repair, her sister leading that campaign to brutally wrestle control land from warlords and tyrants lands who had taken ownership in the absence of their cousin. Lizbeth had offered sanctuary for Celia and Wilbur and their children within the capital, but Wilbur denied this request first. He did not wish for their son, barely in his fifth year, to be put into the regular dangers of court life in a place like Hath, and Celia had to agree. They were done fighting, done vying for the powers that be. Though their legacy as warriors will take time to be forgotten, they wanted simpler lives that their peers simply could not provide them. They needed security and seclusion.

So what better place than a lowly town adjacent to the vicious Forest of Silence. A place is known for spawning very few noble warriors, knowing little dangers and abundance. A place of long life and peace. The place that spawned perhaps the greatest swordsman Liontari had ever seen: Broken Arrow. When Celia first laid eyes upon the walls, frail and flimsy compared to the great cities amongst the nations, she also found it a bit charming. No doubt these walls did their job appropriately because the town spread within was quite lively even from afar. In the distance, the main town square where small shops and local merchants made their days, the people as regular as Fate shall dictate living out ordinary days and ordinary lives. Was she a decade younger, Celia's much more adventurous self would cringe at seeing such complacency. But in her wiser years, she sees this place as a beautiful haven. She could not wait to see the city, but first, they stopped near an abandoned house a ways away from the main road into town. It was decrepit and vacant, not a single care given to it. The porch is rampant with weeds, the wood tarnished by the elements and unkempt. Whatever furniture laid within would no doubt be near to shambles if not simply missing.

"I must say that this is quite depressing," she told Wilbur. He was tending them to the horses, removing their bridles, and guiding them to a pen on the side of the horse. Unfortunately, though, the slightest force from the horses would probably reduce the wooden pen to dust anyways. Still, the smile on his face seeing what was before him, said it all.

"It's been over fifteen years, of course, it would look like this," he said. "My mother would sit on this porch here, hum her songs, and sing me ballads of destiny. I do believe that she imbued this place with a spirit of venture. Though dreary now, I intend on making this the home so that our children will stay safe."

He offered his hand to her, which she did accept. He led her up the short set of stairs and inside the house itself. It wasn't as bad as she imagined. The central room was empty, only the remains of some ancient chair lying in a broken pile remaining. The floorboards were warped from rain that undoubtedly poured forth from various unsealed seams between floors and the roof. The stairs that led to the floor above were in disrepair, half of the steps either missing or heavily damaged. Still, she felt something inside her grow warm when she stepped inside, like some invisible being hugged her from beyond the veil. This home, despite its state, invited her, welcomed her to its embrace. She almost could describe it as mystical, but she knew aura was not the cause of this. Instead, it was the memories, memories she could see in Wilbur's face every time he spoke to her of this house, of this town. Of a childhood marred in a mystery that she was raptured by.